


For the Throne

by macandcaseus



Category: Purple Hyacinth - Ephemerys & Sophism (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Headcanon, Lizbeth's mother doesn't get a name because she doesn't deserve one, Lovers To Enemies, Pre-Canon, Spice, forget lauren philip is the blindest of all, i love that for her, lizbeth is unabashedly awful and you know what?, mmm we sure do love infidelity, timeline not meant to hold up under scrutiny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:49:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28307061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macandcaseus/pseuds/macandcaseus
Summary: All Lizbeth wants is to be Ardhalis's queen. And she will not let a lord's son like Dakan Rhysmel get in her way.
Relationships: Lizbeth Aevasther/Dakan Rhysmel
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18





	For the Throne

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zvesemery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zvesemery/gifts).



> Why yes, I did write two secret Santa fics for Mery. Here's the spicy one >:)

The jewels settled along Lizbeth’s neck, that familiar weight and coolness pulling a smile from her lips as she studied her glittering reflection. 

“If Philip doesn’t propose to you tonight, I just don’t know what the point of this all will have been,” her mother said as she paced in front of the dresses Lizbeth had decided against wearing that night. In the mirror, Lizbeth watched her mother pinch the fabric of one, a deep blue with golden embroidery. “Why didn’t you go with this one?”

Lizbeth sighed. “You liked my dress choice  _ before  _ I put it on.”

“Well.” Her mother’s lips pressed together in the expression that Lizbeth recognized as her trying to remain neutral. “I just didn’t realize it was quite that …  _ open _ .”

Lizbeth locked eyes with herself. “It has no sleeves, Mother. Of course it’s open. It’s not like my chest is falling out of it.”

Her mother scoffed. “It might as well be, and with as much attention as you’re drawing to it with that necklace—”

“You  _ want _ Philip to propose to me tonight, yes? I need to look the part of a future queen.”

“You can look like a queen without also looking like a—”

“Like a  _ what _ , Mother?” Lizbeth stood, and the servant girl who had been putting her jewelry on stepped back. Lizbeth turned to her mother, an expression as cool as the diamonds dripping around her neck sliding over her face. 

The two of them stared at each other for a moment, the coldness of their gazes enough to chill the warm summer air outside. 

“Today may be your birthday, but that doesn’t mean I’m not holding you to your typical standards, Lizbeth. You can wear that dress, I’m just warning you what our guests may think of it when they arrive.”

A muscle twitched in Lizbeth’s jaw as she fought to keep her face even. “As long as Philip is paying attention to me, I don’t care what anyone else thinks. Now,” she sat back down, keeping her gaze away from her mother. “I’d like some time to finish getting ready alone.”

A brief second of silence passed before her mother’s typical  _ huff _ of indignation was followed by the slamming of a door. She and her servant remained still for a moment before Lizbeth cleared her throat and shifted in her seat and the servant picked up a pair of earrings. “What do you think of these ones, my Lady?”

Lizbeth gave them a quick glance. “Those will do.” She surveyed the rest of her jewelry collection that sat on the vanity. “I’d like a headpiece, too.”

“Which one, my Lady?”

Lizbeth examined her circlets before pointing to one. Her servant nestled it around her head, pillowed in her blonde hair. 

Its ruby sparkled in the center of her forehead, and Lizbeth smiled. 

“You must be so excited, my Lady. And I’m happy that you’ll be marrying someone whom you care deeply for. Ardhalis will rejoice to have you as its queen.”

“Hmm. Yes,” Lizbeth said, lacing her fingers together and resting her chin on them. “I’ll rejoice upon becoming Ardhalis’s queen, too.”

#

“And then we’re expecting the Viscount and Viscountess Duchamp. They will undoubtedly bring their son and daughters as well. And the Countess of Kirkwall, which your mother is not too excited about, but you know how she would’ve reacted if we didn’t invite her. Lord Hutchson has said he will arrive too, though he may not stay for long…”

Lizbeth’s attention wandered as Nichols, the steward of her family’s manor, listed every single guest slated to come to her twenty-first birthday celebration. She picked at the finger of her glove, raking her eyes over the main hall. Servants put finishing touches into flower arrangements, aligned bottles of wine and champagne just so on a long table, and fluffed the maroon drapes that stretched from the ceiling to the floor. They were open, at her request, so as the night went on people could gaze out the windows and see the entire city below them, stretching to the Ardhalis coastline—her favorite view. 

“… will be here, of course. Oh, and the Rhysmels. And Lord Rhysmel’s son has just returned from his schooling overseas, so he will be here, too.”

Lizbeth blinked, turning back to Nichols. “Lord Rhysmel’s son will be here?”

“You remember him? He’s been gone for a while.”

Lizbeth scoffed. “He would have left, what, four years ago? I can remember things from four years ago, Nichols.”

“Of course, my Lady. Apologies.” He closed the guest book and placed it under his arm. “If you don’t need anything else from me, I must go make sure everything else is ready for your guests.”

“Yes, please go check.”  _ I didn’t need to hear the list in the first place,  _ she thought. Until an emerald glint of memory flashed through her mind and her breath caught in her throat. 

_ Dakan Rhysmel _ . So he would be here tonight. Lizbeth crossed her arms and walked to one of the windows. The setting sun reflected on the broken-mirror surface of the ocean, and Lizbeth stared at it, sifting through her memories of him. 

The few times they had met, she was always struck with how handsome he was. Far more, she always thought but never allowed herself to dwell on, than Philip. Not that that mattered. She had been raised with the expectation that she and Philip would marry, and she would become Ardhalis’s next queen. 

She would never let a lord’s son like Dakan Rhysmel get in the way of that. 

#

The room chattered with the guests, all pressed in together. Lizbeth stayed at Philip’s side, just like she planned to, but that didn’t stop countless people from coming to wish her happy birthday, to tell her they were so proud of her for becoming such a  _ distinguished _ woman, so  _ elegant  _ and  _ poised _ and  _ refined _ . Though she smiled at each one, thanking them with sincerity, it took all the etiquette training in her not to roll her eyes at each one and say something along the lines of,  _ You think you’re telling me something I don’t already know myself? _

“You remember the palace gardens, yes?” Philip asked. 

Lizbeth swallowed a sip of champagne and nodded. “Yes, of course.”

He smiled. “They’re gorgeous this time of year. I would love for you to see them sometime soon, while they’re still in their prime.”

She nodded, turning her lips into a smile. “I would love to come to the palace again.”

The two fell quiet for a moment before Philip took her hand. Lizbeth’s heart leapt to her throat. They were still in the hall, albeit removed from most other guests.  _ Now? He’s doing this now? _

“Excuse me, my Lady?”

Lizbeth’s hand tightened around Philip’s as she turned. She let go when she saw who was speaking to her. 

“And your Highness. Please, forgive my interruption, but I wanted to wish you a happy birthday,” Dakan Rhysmel said, a polite smile on his face as he inclined his head to both of them. 

“Dakan!” Philip held out his arm, and after a moment’s hesitation, Dakan clasped it, his smile growing wider as Philip said, “Welcome back to Ardhalis. You have to tell me all about your studies abroad.”

“I will, if you tell me everything I missed while I was away.” He smiled, and Lizbeth clenched her jaw. 

_ Well, he hasn’t gotten any less handsome. _

Dakan looked back to her, and her throat tightened at the sight of his brilliant green eyes. “Apologies for interrupting, I didn’t mean—”

“No,” Philip waved his hand, cutting Dakan off. “No need to apologize. Lizbeth,” he said, turning to her. “I’ve kept you away from the rest of your guests for long enough. Please, I don’t want to make you look like a poor hostess.”

Lizbeth’s mouth fell open, but she slid her gracious mask on once more. “Yes, of course. I do want to be back to finish our conversation later, though.”

“Of course, my dear.”

Philip turned to Dakan and began peppering him with questions about the past four years of his studies. Lizbeth took a step back, tightening her grip around her champagne flute, but forced herself to walk in a direction before anyone could notice her … displeasure. 

Soon enough, she was nabbed by some nobleperson, who dragged her into a conversation full of compliments that were clearly meant to boost their own ego. Once they were done, more swarmed in on her, and she had to endure the most tedious topics, from gossip about names she barely recognized to where families were planning on vacationing to the inner workings of so-and-so’s whatever business. 

And throughout it all, she had her smile plastered on her face, even as the violin quartet grated against her ears and the food and drink turned tasteless in her mouth. It didn’t help that every now and then, her mother would stalk by, piercing her with that look like a bird of prey, reminding her that she was on display at all times. 

What felt like hours later, Lizbeth had finally managed to extricate herself from a group of guests, wandering to one of the windows to look over Ardhalis. The stars were out, but instead she focused on the constellations formed by the flickering lights in the houses below. 

She took a few deep breaths, clearing her mind of the drivel she just had to endure and focusing on the night’s goal once more: Philip’s proposal.  _ Now. Where did he go? _

Lizbeth turned and startled at Nichols, standing next to her. “Nichols! How long have you been there?”

“Just got here, my Lady. How are you enjoying your party so far?”

She nodded, letting that smile slip onto her face again. “It’s wonderful. Tell me, have you seen Prince Philip lately? I’d like to speak with him again.”

“Oh, good. He just asked for me to come fetch you. Follow me?”

Lizbeth held herself tall, focusing on the clack of her heels and the swish of her dress as she walked at Nichols’s side. He led her out of the main hall, down the corridor, and across the foyer to the main entrance. As Nichols pushed the doors open, Lizbeth swallowed, smoothing her skirt and checking that her circlet was still balanced just so.

“I believe he’s waiting for you by the fountain,” Nichols said as he stepped aside. Lizbeth nodded and made her way to the stairs. 

The doors thudded shut behind her, but her gaze was fixed ahead. Philip stood by the fountain, head bowed and hand worrying his chin, but he straightened when he caught sight of her. She descended the stairs, her leg flicking in and out of her dress’s slit, her heels piercing the silence of the night. 

“Lizbeth,” Philip said as she approached, holding out his hand for her. She took it, and he pulled her closer. “First, I want to thank you so much for the lovely evening I had. Truly, a wonderful time.”

“Thank you,” she said, inclining her head. 

“Now,” he paused, pressing his lips together. “I’m afraid I have some unfortunate news.”

Lizbeth’s passive mask cracked—the smallest amount—and her polite smile disappeared. “What do you mean?”

Philip sighed. “I’ve been called to help my father handle relations with another country. Unfortunately, I will be gone for at least a week, likely longer. I—” He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. “I don’t want to do this. Not now. But I have to. You understand, yes?”

She nodded, though it didn’t feel like she was the one controlling her movement. “Of course.”

He squeezed her hands, and she left them limp in his. “I will see you again when I return. Please,” he reached to her face, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “take care until then.”

“Have a safe journey,” she said, her voice flat.

He let go of her other hand, and it dropped to her side as she watched him walk to his carriage. He didn’t look back as he climbed into it, as the driver whipped up the horses, as the wheels rattled down the driveway, the sound fading away until it disappeared down the hill and she was left with the hissing of the fountain. 

Alone, anger and panic bubbled up in her until her pulse thrummed and her face grew hot with shame. Embarrassment. Fear.  _ Why didn’t he propose? What are these relations with the other country? Will he have to marry a princess from there? What will Mother— _

Lizbeth sank to the side of the fountain, burying her face in her hands, trying,  _ trying _ to breathe through the tightness in her throat and chest. Her eyes stung, hidden in her palms.

She didn’t know how long she sat there before she heard a voice calling out, “My Lady!”

Lizbeth looked up, swallowing her tears, to see Dakan striding toward her. She looked back down, turning her face away from him as he sat next to her. 

“Please, forgive me for intruding. But … is there anything you want me to do for you?” he asked. 

She shook her head. 

“Then … do you mind if I sit here? I don’t want to leave you alone.”

Lizbeth took a shuddering breath and whispered, “Thank you.”

In the corner of her eye, she saw his hand moving toward her, and she flinched away, glaring at him.

“Apologies,” he said. “I was only going to offer you this, if you wanted it.”

She looked to his hand, a handkerchief laying across his palm. She hesitated, but took it from him, pressing it to her eyes, wiping at her cheeks and her nose. 

The two sat in silence until Lizbeth had collected herself enough. The exhaustion that hung on her shoulders was too heavy to let her care that she had allowed herself to be seen in such a vulnerable state. 

“Would you …” Dakan started, clearing his throat. “You don’t have to. But if you would like someone to talk to about whatever is upsetting you … I’m here.”

Her instinctive reaction was to harden her heart, to clench her jaw at the thought of being even  _ more _ vulnerable with him than she already had the misfortune of being—but when she saw the concern on his face, his eyes searching her, lips open slightly in worry, she softened.  _ Do not let yourself do this, Lizbeth. _

“Philip was supposed to propose to me tonight. But he didn’t. He left to go to some other country to help his father.” She sniffed, clenching Dakan’s handkerchief. 

A beat of silence passed before Dakan said, “I thought you two were already … I don’t know, betrothed from birth or something?”

She sighed. “No, but we’ve been expected to marry.”

“Well, pardon me, but if you’re expected to marry one another … why does the proposal matter?”

Lizbeth’s chest tightened at the image that came to mind—her mother, berating her for not securing the confirmation that she would be marrying into the royal family. The cold shoulders, the passive-aggressive comments for the next few weeks. 

Not to mention the future she had in mind, of her sitting on Ardhalis’s throne, could be smashed to bits if she did not get an official proposal from Philip. 

She scoffed, trying to push that panic away again. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand. It just  _ does _ . And he didn’t do it.”

“Well. He clearly has no idea the mistake he’s made. Then again, Philip’s always been a bit of a fool.”

Lizbeth’s eyes snapped back to Dakan, who was smirking at her. “You say that of our prince?”

“I say that of my friend.”

She looked back up, eyes wide, and before she could stop herself, she laughed, soft at first, but when she caught sight of his smile, fixed on her, she laughed harder, until he was laughing too.

“God. I- I don’t know what came over me. Forgive me,” she said as she calmed herself, wiping her eyes again. 

“For what? Laughing?”

Lizbeth hesitated, giving him a small smile. “I’m not used to being so emotional in front of people.”

He grinned. “So I get to see a side of you others don’t? Lucky me.”

Lizbeth’s cheeks warmed, and she lifted the handkerchief back up in an effort to hide. “Well. I suppose we should be getting back inside.”

“Oh,” Dakan said, giving her a small smile. “I was going to head home as well. That’s what I came out here for. Well, that and trying to find you to say goodbye. So, goodbye, my Lady.”

He held out a hand, and she placed hers in it. He gave her knuckles a gentle kiss, not breaking eye contact, and she found herself desperately wishing she wasn’t wearing gloves.

“Goodnight, Dakan,” she said. 

“Happy birthday.”

“Thank you.”

He tilted his head, looking back to the manor, the windows of the great hall lit while the rest of the house was dark. “If I may suggest, don’t go back to your party. You deserve some time to yourself for the rest of the night.” He looked back to her. “Take care, my Lady.”

She nodded. “I will.”

She watched him find his carriage, and didn’t stand and walk back to the stairs until he was inside. The clop of the horses’ hooves and rattling of the wheels made her turn, though, and she watched as it disappeared the same way Philip’s did. 

Lizbeth walked back through the dim halls to her moonlit bedroom. She placed the handkerchief on her vanity, slipped her gloves and the dress off, laying them across a seat, and pulled a silk nightgown over her head. She picked the handkerchief back up, moving into the moonlight to examine it further.

The edges were stitched with red thread, and in a corner, his initials were embroidered in gold— _ DMR _ . Lizbeth traced those three letters with her thumb as she sat on her bed. 

She still stung at the thought of Philip leaving without finally proposing to her, and she didn’t have the energy to think about what her mother’s reaction would be the next day. But she wrapped Dakan’s handkerchief around her hand and allowed herself to find comfort in the pressure of it, the thought that, maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad if it was his hand there instead of a piece of cloth. 

Lizbeth shook her head, unwinding the handkerchief and dropping it into the drawer of her nightstand.  _ No distractions _ , she thought as she slammed the drawer shut.  _ Philip  _ will  _ propose. There was a lot going on tonight.  _ She took a deep breath and went to run her fingers through her hair, but stopped when they caught on the circlet that still rested on her head. 

She crossed to the mirror, gazing into it. The ruby caught a few glimmers of moonlight, making it look as though she had blood glistening on her forehead. She sighed, tilting her head at various angles, imagining how she would look wearing an official crown.

_ Finally how I’m supposed to, at least. _

#

Lizbeth remained in her room all the next day—well, until a knock sounded from her door. 

_ Mother wouldn’t knock. _ “Come in,” she called from her couch, where she had been sitting since she woke up, thoughts spinning and going nowhere productive. 

A servant walked in, holding an envelope. “A letter for you, my Lady, from Sir Rhysmel. Would you like me to read it?”

_ Sir Rhysmel? _ “Yes,” she said, her heart pounding.

The servant cleared his throat, tearing the envelope open. “Lady Lizbeth. After our conversation last night, I find myself wanting to reach out and offer you a place and a person to go to while Philip is away. I understand if you don’t take me up on this offer; I just ask that if you do, to send word ahead of your arrival so I may prepare. If you do not, no need to send any reply. Yours, Dakan Rhysmel.”

Lizbeth’s pulse thrummed in her throat. “Would you send a reply to Sir Rhysmel?” she asked. The servant nodded. “Simply convey that I will be arriving after noon. Thank you.”

Once the servant was gone, Lizbeth pressed her hands to her mouth, her heart still pounding at what she just did. No doubt her mother knew about Philip’s lack of a proposal by now, and when she found out about Lizbeth going to visit Dakan— _ I can lie. I can make up an excuse. I can worry about this when I come home _ . She stood, crossing to her closet. She couldn’t wear anything too opulent—no need to make anyone think anything other than the truth, that she was simply going to visit a friend. She picked out a simple, light blue dress, tied her hair into a knot at the base of her scalp, and picked out an umbrella—it looked like it could rain at any point, and she would not let herself be caught off guard by anything around Dakan again.

#

Lizbeth did all she could to calm the beat of her heart, but with her arm hooked around Dakan’s, listening to him describe his experiences in Arhdalis’s neighboring countries with such clear passion, and the beauty of his home’s grounds … it was proving a difficult task. 

“I’m sorry, Dakan, but … what exactly did you study while you were gone?” she asked during a lull. 

“Oh. I was fortunate enough to be given insight into how a few different royal families worked with advisors, councils, and the like. Philip told me that once he’s king, I’m a strong candidate for his advisor, and I wanted to make myself the strongest candidate.”

Her eyebrows rose, and before she could stop herself, her hand tightened around his arm, drawing them closer. “Oh, I didn’t know that you’ve been working towards a place in the palace, too.”

Dakan laughed. “Yeah. I honestly don’t know what I would do if Philip  _ doesn’t  _ pick me. That’s all I’ve been focusing on for the past four years.”

Lizbeth scoffed. “You understand how I feel when he didn’t propose, then,” she said, venom seeping into her voice. She bit her lip, shaking her head. “Sorry. I shouldn’t—” 

“No. You should.”

She looked up at him, and he watched her back, sympathy painting his face. “Well. Hopefully he picks you to be his advisor.”

Dakan nodded. “Thank you. And …” he cleared his throat, looking away from her, “hopefully he proposes to you once he returns.”

They both fell quiet, continuing their walk, and Lizbeth slackened her grip on his arm.  _ I can’t let myself— _

A drop of water splashed onto her arm. She stopped, bringing Dakan to a stop as well, and her eyes widened when more raindrops fell on her. “Oh—” she let go of his arm, pushing her umbrella open. “I had a feeling this would happen,” she said as she pressed closer to Dakan, pulling her beneath the cover. 

“Um—” her breath caught in her throat when she saw his face flush at being pressed so close to her—the umbrella was, after all, only meant for one person. “There’s a gazebo close by, we should head there to wait this out. Hopefully it’s a short one.”

The rain pattered onto the manicured bushes around them and the umbrella above. Lizbeth was struggling between keeping close to Dakan and also keeping as much distance between them as possible. Her mother’s voice echoed through her head whenever their arms brushed, and she did not need that reminder, the one thing she wanted to avoid by being with him. 

At last, they reached the gazebo, and once under the roof, Lizbeth broke away from him, shaking her umbrella and herself from the electricity that had built up from their walk together. 

They were quiet, simply watching the rain and each other out of the corners of their eyes. 

“Do you remember that holiday party a few years ago the Aevasthers held at the palace?” Dakan asked. When Lizbeth turned to him, he wasn’t looking at her, but he was smiling at the sky. 

“The one where Edward got so drunk he basically passed out during dinner?” Lizbeth asked, grinning.

Dakan laughed, and Lizbeth’s smile grew. “Yep. That one. You know, I stole liquor from the cellar that night?” 

“Really?” Lizbeth asked, giggling. “Did Philip ever find out?”

Dakan snorted. “No. If he did, he would’ve sent me home immediately, even though, trust me, there was enough down there to let the entire city have at least three drinks each.”

“Why did you?”

Dakan shrugged. “I think I would have been… sixteen? The perfect age to do dumb shit like that.” he turned to her, an eyebrow raised. “Come on. You can’t tell me you’ve never done stupid shit.”

Lizbeth pressed her smile back into her lips. “Honestly, the stupidest thing I’ve ever done is showing up here—” her eyes widened, and a bolt went through her veins. “That—that came out wrong. I didn’t mean—”

“I know what you mean.” Dakan hesitated before asking, “It’s your mother, isn’t it?”

Lizbeth looked down, clenching her jaw. 

“Hey.” He walked over to her, holding out his hand. She hesitated before taking it. “You’re going to be free from her someday. Hell, probably sooner than you think, since Philip will likely want you to move into the palace once you’re married.”

Her brows knit together. “How … how did you know it was her?”

Dakan frowned. “I remember how she talked to you at that party. Like you were a doll, and she was positioning you just right. I felt awful for you, and I’m so sorry I was too much of a fool to try to stand up for you.”

Her breath caught, tears pricking at her eyes again before she forced them back. 

“And I saw how she kept looking at you last night. Lizbeth, if I had the power to take you away from her …” his hand tightened around hers, and her heart soared. “I would. But for now, if there’s anything I can do to help you … please,  _ never  _ hesitate to ask.”

Her mouth fell open, but no words wanted for form. All that her mind was was …  _ relief. _

“Tomorrow,” she blurted. Her face flushed when he looked at her, quizzical. “Can I come back tomorrow?”

His confusion melted away, replaced with a grin. “Of course. You can come back for as long as you want to. And stay for as long as you want to as well.”

Lizbeth sighed, and before she could stop herself, she walked toward him and caught him in her arms, wrapping him in a hug. It only took a moment for him to hug her back, his hands pressing against her back and her scalp.

The rain slowed, the drumming on the gazebo’s roof turning to gentle drips. Lizbeth pulled away, avoiding his gaze. “I suppose we should go back inside before we get stuck out here again.”

Dakan nodded. “It’s about time for lunch. Would you like to—”

“Yes,” she answered before he could finish. She smiled at him. “I’ll stay.”

He offered his arm, and she put her umbrella up, covering both of them as best as she could.

#

“I’m just saying, Lizbeth, if he doesn’t propose to you tonight, there’s no hope for you.”

Lizbeth, sitting across from her mother in their carriage, clenched her skirt in her fist, but kept her face impassive, staring out the window. Over a week had passed since her birthday, Philip and his father had returned, and they had been invited to a welcome back dinner at the palace.  _ He has to propose tonight. Maybe his plan all along was to propose at the palace. It would make sense, after all. _

“Luckily, I’ve been planning for this scenario. I have a list of eligible backups in case you screw this up for yourself. Of course, they’ll all be steps down, but I suppose you would just have to get used to it. At least they’ll be lucky bastards, marrying into our wealth.” She paused, and her eyes burned on Lizbeth’s skin. “And that Dakan Rhysmel is  _ not  _ on it.”

Nausea sunk its teeth into Lizbeth’s stomach.  _ This is worse than her ignoring me. _

To escape her mother’s wrath, Lizbeth had spent nearly every day with Dakan until Philip returned. Of course, she never told her mother a thing about their time together—she always heard about her visits through servants and the carriage drivers. But Lizbeth refused to let her mother’s fury burn away the time she spent with Dakan, and she refused to let herself believe that that time meant anything more to her than the time she typically would spend with Philip.

“Well? Do you have anything to say about this?”

Lizbeth exhaled through her nose before turning to her mother. “I will make sure Philip is able to propose to me tonight. I promise you.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

Lizbeth’s jaw tensed. “He  _ will _ .”

Her mother snorted, leaning back and crossing her arms.

Eventually, their carriage wound its way up the driveway to the palace, coming to a stop outside the main entrance. The driver helped them out of the carriage, and they glided up the palace steps, letting servants lead them through the twisting, opulent halls to a welcoming room, which Lizbeth entered ahead of her mother.

“Lizbeth!”

Her hands were grasped by Philip as soon as she entered the room. He kissed them, and she smiled, waiting for him to calm a bit. “Hello, Philip. I can’t wait to hear about your trip this evening.”

He laughed. “It was dull, but I’ll tell you if you’d like. I’m mostly excited to see you again.”

She pushed a giggle from her lips, allowing him to lead her deeper into the room, not taking her eyes off of him.  _ I just need the perfect moment— _

“Dakan!”

Lizbeth’s heart stopped. She followed Philip’s gaze, and those now too-familiar green eyes locked with hers. 

Philip led her to where Dakan stood, and she shifted her arm, linked through his. “Here we are,” Philip said, smiling between the two of them. Lizbeth forced a polite smile, avoiding looking at Dakan with all her willpower. “I must say, Dakan, thank you for looking after Lizbeth while I was gone.”

She bristled.  _ Looking after? _ Then, the rest of that sentence’s implications hit her.  _ He didn’t— _

“Well, we only visited a few times. Just enough to make sure neither of us was lonely for too long. You know how it is,” Dakan said, an easy smile directed at Philip. 

Philip laughed while Lizbeth tried to regain control of her heart and breath. “Of course, of course. Well, if you’d excuse us,” he said to Dakan, placing his hand over Lizbeth’s, “I promised Lizbeth I would show her our gardens next time she visited, and I don’t want to go back on that promise. Are you ready?” he asked her. 

“Of course,” she said, flashing a smile at him. She didn’t watch Dakan as Philip led her away. 

Through more hallways, past paintings and rooms and servants, Philip talked at her about his visit to the other country. She listened enough to know when to nod or make a small “Oh!” or “Yes,” or “Mhm,” but most of her concentration was back with Dakan, thinking of the easy way he covered for them—and the fact that he did at all.  _ We never did anything inappropriate. He could have told the truth. Unless— _

The night’s cool air washed over her when she and Philip reached the gardens. She looked around, and, though it was beautiful, she found that she couldn’t focus on anything displayed in front of her. 

He led her through, pointing out flowers and bushes and trees, and again, she only half listened. But anxiety swirled in her stomach, waiting to see if he would deny her again or finally, finally propose, give her the path to what she wanted _. _

At last, Philip came to a stop in front of a bed of flowers she knew she recognized—purple hyacinths. “They’re beautiful,” she said when he was quiet for a bit. 

“Thank you.” He turned to her, swallowing. “Lizbeth. I know you’ve been waiting for this for a long time. Since we were children. And I never really talked about it because … well, I’ve been scared. Marriage is …” he exhaled. “Marriage is a big step for anyone.”

She nodded, not daring to say anything in case she messed this moment up.

“But for a prince—for a future king—it’s important that I choose the right woman. And, Lizbeth …” he took her hand, kneeling before her, and her heart hammered against her ribcage. “I know you’re the right woman. You not only already behave like a queen, but you’ve been the clearest choice for me since the beginning. I can trust you. I can talk to you. I can …” he swallowed. “I can love you, Lizbeth. And I know we’ve been expected to marry, but I hope you agree with me that we can be more than a king and queen. We can be everything a married couple should be to one another.”

_ Finally _ . The motions Lizbeth practiced for this moment took over. A hand to her mouth, to her heart, blinking as though holding back tears, nodding and speechlessness. Philip brought a ring out from a pocket and slipped it on her finger, and she admired it in the moonlight—a white, shining diamond, just as she imagined it for all these years.

Philip stood, pulling her to him, tilting her face up to meet his. It was strange—through all these years of silent courting, she and Philip had never kissed. She stilled in his arms, waiting until he let go of her, and smiled when he pulled away. 

He led her back into the palace and into the dining room, where everyone had moved to. 

“Excuse me,” he called out, the chatter and movement quieting around the room.

“I have wonderful news.” He guided Lizbeth forward, her hand with the ring resting on his palm. “Lizbeth will be your princess and, one day, your queen. I hope you all will love her as much as I do.”

Applause echoed around the room, and Lizbeth let those works sink into her— _ one day, your queen— _ until she caught sight of Dakan. He sat at his place at the table, wine glass in his hand, and he watched her. Only when their eyes met did he pull a smile onto his face. 

She had been wearing fake smiles long enough that she knew when to recognize them. 

#

Another glittering party for her. Well, her and Philip. More treading above the ocean of her frustration that she kept pushing down, deeper and deeper, so that if she slipped under the surface, she would have no chance of coming back up for air. 

Her mother watched her from the opposite side of the ballroom, but she avoided her gaze as much as possible. All the better—if she stared at Philip all night, no one would think she wasn’t completely enamored with him. 

After Philip’s proposal, her mother wasn’t even happy. She had just gone on about how she better not fuck it up—there was plenty of time between now and the wedding, after all, and any slight misstep could be enough to lose the crown. It took all of Lizbeth’s control to not write to Dakan and ask if she could come spend time with him—just like it was taking all of her control now to not return his gaze at her engagement party. 

She was a butterfly on two different pins, though one pair of piercing eyes was welcomed much more than the other. 

The night wore on, and she stopped paying attention to all the people coming to congratulate her and Philip. All they wanted was a smile, a nod, and a thank you—she let her reflexes take over. 

“Lizbeth, darling.” She snapped out of her daze and turned to Philip. “Please excuse me for a bit. It seems like most people have given us their blessings at this point, and I must step out for a few minutes.”

“Of course.”

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, and those around them, watching, all cooed and sighed. Lizbeth kept herself poised as he walked away.  _ Should I stay here? Or walk around? _

“Lizbeth?”

She startled, that too-familiar voice setting her heart beating. “Dakan. Hello.”

“Apologies for not offering my congratulations earlier.” He had his hands folded behind his back, standing tall, rigid, face impassive. 

The heat on her skin from her mother’s gaze burned hotter—she didn’t want to check if she was imagining this or not. “No need to apologize. There’s … a lot going on.”

“Where did Philip go just now?”

She shrugged. “Presumably the restroom.”

“I notice he hasn’t asked you to dance yet,” Dakan said, looking out over all the dancing couples twirling around the room.

“I’m not a fan of dancing in front of so many people.”

“I see.”

“But …” she swallowed, pinching at the skirt of her dress, “if I ever find myself alone. That is when I am willing to dance.”

He nodded, slowly. “I see.”

Lizbeth pulled in a breath, turning away from him. “This room really is stunning tonight, isn’t it?”

“Yes, of course it is.”

“I know why we’re having the party in here. It’s the biggest room in the palace, after all. But if I could pick anywhere to have his party, it would be the throne room. I just think it would make such a statement, you know?” She didn’t turn to look at him.

“Yes, I agree.”

They quieted. She avoided his gaze, staring at the floor instead—she didn’t dare look to her mother at this point.

“Well. I’ll let you get back to your party. We’ll see each other soon, I’m guessing.”

“Good evening, Dakan.”

He walked away, and she could only hope he understood what she was trying to tell him. 

When Philip returned, she took his hand and said that now that he was back, she was going to go freshen up—she hadn’t wanted to leave their guests alone. They smiled at each other, and as she turned away, the smile slipped. 

She didn’t look to see if Dakan noticed her leaving. 

She made her way through the hallways, to the throne room. Edward was still in the ballroom, but she still peeked in, cautious, making her way around the whole room to be sure no guests or servants were hiding anywhere. Once she was satisfied, she paused at the bottom of the dais where the thrones rested. She lifted the skirt of her golden dress and walked up the steps, eyes locked on the throne. At the top, she placed her hand on the wooden armrest, tracing its grain before lowering herself into the seat. 

The throne room door creaked open, and she straightened when Dakan stepped in. He froze when he saw her, looking at him, but he quickly closed the door and began walking toward her, coming to a stop at the foot of the dais.

“Come up here, Dakan,” she said. 

His footsteps on the stairs echoed around the room, and he paused before reaching the top. She gestured to the other throne. 

“You want me to sit there?”

She nodded. 

He looked behind him, though both would have noticed someone else come in, and lowered himself to the throne, meeting Lizbeth’s eyes. 

“Will you be happy?” he asked. 

“I think I will be.”

He sighed, his arm propped on the armrest, rubbing his forehead. “I just …  _ dammit _ .”

“What, Dakan? Say it.”

He glanced back to her, lips pressed together, fist clenched against his chin. Both were silent, staring at one another. 

Lizbeth sighed, holding out her hand. “I’m still waiting for that dance.”

He took her hand without hesitation. 

They stood, her moving close to him, his hand resting on her back, her arm over his shoulder. “I’m afraid we’ll have to make do without music,” he whispered. 

“That’s fine.”

They swayed together, turning in slow circles. There wasn’t much space next to the thrones, but neither made a move to go down to the floor. So they stayed. Eventually, Lizbeth couldn’t stand staring into his intense eyes any longer, and she rested her head against his chest. He guided her body closer. 

There wasn’t anything to say, really. But of course Dakan broke the silence anyway. “Do you really love him, Lizbeth?”

She froze, and he stopped too. She leaned back, unable to meet his gaze as she tried to come up with an excuse for why she was marrying Philip that didn’t betray how selfish she was. 

“You … forgive me, but … it seems like you’re just too used to this expectation to be willing to want anything else. Is that it?”

_ Thank you _ . “Yes. I suppose.”

“If you had a choice, would you still marry him?”

She paused. “I don’t know.”

“If …” his voice failed, and he cleared his throat. “If you could marry me, would you?”

Her heart twinged, and she squeezed her eyes shut, forcing a laugh out. “Seems pretty quick, don’t you think?”

“Not now. Just … eventually. Do you think you could have? If you and Philip weren’t expected to marry since you were  _ children _ ?”

She swallowed, turning away from him. “It’s more complicated than that.”

He sighed. “I know. I know it is.” His thumb rubbed up and down on her back, and she shivered, leaning closer to him. “I just wish I could have had more of a chance to fight for you, I suppose.”

Her throat tightened, and she stepped back. His arms fell to his side, but she didn’t dare look at his face, fixing her gaze instead on the throne. “We … we shouldn’t be doing this. You should go. I should go. I—”

“I understand,” Dakan said.

She turned back to him, but he wasn’t looking at her anymore. She swallowed, stepping back further, and without another word, he descended and walked out of the throne room. 

When the door thudded shut behind him, Lizbeth sank onto the throne, lowering her face to her hands. But she looked back up, surveying the room from her place above. 

_ This. This is what I want. Any obstacle can burn. _

#

In the weeks leading up to the wedding, Lizbeth visited the palace often in order to oversee decisions and arrangements. She pretended to have opinions about the guest list, the decorations, the flowers, the food. She did enjoy designing her wedding dress with the royal tailor—at least, she would have if her mother wasn’t constantly questioning her decisions and trying to get her to make other choices. 

Lizbeth admired what had been made so far as she turned around, staring in the mirror. Diamonds spotted her neckline and cinched her waist, and lace flowed to the floor. “I’d like to add lace sleeves, as well,” she told the tailor, who nodded and began measuring her arms. 

“What do you plan on doing with your hair?” her mother asked, coming up behind her and combing her fingers through Lizbeth’s blonde locks. 

“I want it up, and I want pearls in it,” she answered curtly.

Her mother raised an eyebrow. “Are you certain?”

“This isn’t your wedding, Mother.”

“Oh, please, you don’t even want this to be your wedding.”

A chill shot through Lizbeth’s veins, freezing her in place. The tailor’s eyes had widened, and he met her gaze in the mirror. She fought through the panic rising in her chest and said, “Could you please leave my mother and I for a moment?”

The tailor nodded, dropping his measuring tape and scampering out of the room. Lizbeth took a breath, collecting herself before turning to her mother. “I will remind you. That as of now, I am above you. I may not officially be Philip’s wife yet, but his choosing me means that I have a power over you I never had before. You may  _ not  _ speak that way to me. Do you understand? Your presence here is a privilege that I can easily revoke. Do not tempt me again.”

“What do you think Philip will do when he finds out that you don’t love him? That all you want is this power? You think he’ll keep you around? That’s dangerous for a future king, to have such a power-hungry wife.” Her mother’s lips curled into a vindictive smile. “If I was you, I would keep me around. I know too much about your true desires to just be cast aside.”

Lizbeth clenched her jaw, fighting her breath to remain calm. “Very. Well. Still. I don’t deserve to be treated like this. You can bully me all you’d like, but I’m marrying Philip on my own terms. And you will  _ not _ take that from me.”

Her mother snorted, rolling her eyes. “Did your dear Dakan teach you those phrases?”

Panic shot Lizbeth in the forehead, but her determination did not slip. “It doesn’t matter if he did or not. And if he did, so what? Dakan is a friend. I’m allowed to have those.”

“A friend who is clearly enamored with you, and you’re clearly leading him on.”

“Do  _ not _ comment on my relationship with Dakan Rhysmel, Mother. I will not tolerate it.”

“Oh, so you admit that there is something between you two?”

“Of  _ course _ I admit it!” Lizbeth shouted before freezing. She and her mother stared at one another. Her face burned, and she composed herself before continuing, “But I wasn’t about to upset my plans to marry Philip over  _ Dakan Rhysmel _ . He’s barely a lord.”

Her mother scoffed. “So it all comes back to the power you’ll have, doesn’t it?”

Lizbeth leveled a stare at her. “And who’s fault was that, I wonder?”

She turned back, clearing her throat. “I don’t want to hear another word from you for the rest of the day. In fact, not even until I’m married. And after that, I will be here, so it doesn’t matter how you try to control me.”

Neither spoke for a moment, until Lizbeth called out, “Tailor? Can you come back in now?”

The door opened, and he slipped back in. For the rest of the fitting, she did not spare her mother a glance. Whenever she spoke a word, Lizbeth did not dignify her with a response. And once she was out of the dress, when the tailor had draped it over a mannequin, and he assured her the final touches would be done in a week, she left the room without waiting for her mother. 

She strode through the halls, which were slowly becoming familiar. Until this point, she had only spent time in the main areas of the palace, but as she was shuttled from one room to another to make various decisions, she was building out the palace’s map in her mind, determined to have a solid grasp on its twistings and turnings before she lived here.

Her mind too full of the conversation with her mother, she didn’t pay attention to where her feet led her until she was passing the throne room, which meant she took a longer path than necessary to leave the palace. The door was slightly ajar, and she crept by it, assuming Philip or even Edward was likely in there at the moment.

But a head of brown hair caught her attention, and she stopped. 

Through the crack in the door, she watched Dakan stand in the center of the room, reading a piece of paper. She placed her hand on the wood, listening to the beat of her heart in her ears. 

Metal clattered at the opposite end of the hall, and she shrieked, jumping, her hand pushing the door open further. The servant who had dropped a tray of silver cups scrambled on the floor to pick them up, calling apologies to Lizbeth for startling her. But all she focused on was Dakan’s wide-eyed stare from where he stood. 

“I’m so, so sorry, my Lady. I promise you this won’t ever happen again—“ the servant called as she balanced the cups back onto the platter. Lizbeth broke her eyes away from Dakan and turned to the servant.

“Be sure it doesn’t. You … get where you’re supposed to be going now.”

The servant nodded her head and bent her knees, the platter just as precariously stacked as Lizbeth assumed it had been before. When she was gone, and all was silent, Lizbeth turned to Dakan. 

“How have preparations been, my Lady?” he asked. 

She nodded. “Fine.”

“Good.”

They stared at one another. 

“Sorry,” she said, voice quiet. “I’ll leave—”

“You don’t have to,” he said, walking closer, but stopping. She looked up and down both sides of the hall before stepping into the throne room, closing the door behind her. 

“What are you doing in here?” she asked. 

He held up his paper. “Philip has given me some … duties, I guess. Things to prepare before the wedding.”

Lizbeth raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

He shook his head, shrugging. “Just some small delegation things. Mostly surrounding the poorer sections of the city. 

Before she could stop herself, she smiled at him. “Looks like he’s giving you some right-hand-man type tasks.”

He smiled back at her, and her face warmed. “Yeah. It’s … really, really exciting.”

“I’m glad you’re finally getting what you want.”

His smile disappeared, and he looked back to the paper. “Yeah. I’m glad we both are.”

Her throat tightened, and she looked at the floor, tapping the tip of her shoe against the marble. “I … I stood up to my mother earlier.”

Dakan’s head snapped back up, and a grin stretched across his face. “Really?”

That grin infected her, and she couldn’t stop herself from reflecting it back at him. “Really.”

She didn’t know who moved first, but next thing she knew their arms were around one another, and she was laughing into his shoulder. He smelled like cedarwood and spice, and she sank into his arms as her heart rose into the air—only to come crashing back down the instant she remembered who and where she was. 

Lizbeth pulled back, her laughter dying on her lips, and the joy in Dakan’s eyes dimmed. He cleared his throat, stepping back further from her. “I—I’m glad to hear that, my Lady.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. 

Silence was strung between them, taut. She stepped back again. “Well. I should be going.”

“Of course.”

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes as she exhaled. “I suppose … the next time we see each other will most likely be the wedding day.”

“Most likely.”

She nodded. “Goodbye, Dakan.”

“Goodbye, Lizbeth,” he replied, his voice quiet. 

Before she lost her strength, Lizbeth turned, hurrying to the throne room doors, and left, shutting the door behind her. 

As she made her way to the entrance, to the carriage that would take her back home, she stared at the ground, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes.

#

“ _ What _ did I say about you not speaking to me again?” Lizbeth snapped at her mother as she stomped to her bedroom. 

“You’re making a mistake, Lizbeth, and I’m only trying to get you to see—” 

“See what? That I shouldn’t be marrying Philip after all?” A laugh tripped out, erratic. “It’s a bit too late for that, Mother!”

Her mother’s hand grabbed her wrist, nails digging into skin. “You know damn well that’s not what I mean—”

Lizbeth tore her arm from her mother’s grasp. “I am marrying him  _ tomorrow, _ Mother. Whether you like the way I go about it or not. And there is nothing you can do to make me change my mind!” She pointed at her mother, her voice sharpening. “You are the one who has told me. My whole life. That I will be marrying Philip. Well, now I am, and still  _ nothing _ I do makes you happy.”

“You’re not even the princess yet and you’re already acting like such a  _ brat _ ,” her mother hissed.

“Well, I can’t wait until I am the princess, so I can make sure I never have to see you again.” Lizbeth turned on her heel, ignoring her mother’s shouts, and continued up the stairs to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. 

She pushed her fingers into her hair, grabbing as she crossed to her bed and flopped, face-first, onto it.  _ Tomorrow _ . Tomorrow, she’ll become the princess. She’ll be on her way to queen. She’ll …

_ Dakan. _

She groaned, rolling onto her back. Fumbling for the drawer of her nightstand, she pulled out his handkerchief—she had lost track of the number of times she had taken it out to trace his initials in the corner. 

A clock somewhere in her home chimed midnight.  _ My wedding day, _ she thought, still staring at the handkerchief. 

Her mother’s insults and pressures, the display she was going to be on all day, the preparation she was doing to make sure her mask would not slip—it all swirled in her mind, in her chest, her stomach.  _ From here on out, I’m going to have to be acting. Every day. For the rest of my life.  _

_ Fuck it. _

#

She had snuck out at night before, to simply take walks around her manor’s grounds. Now, though, there were a few more hoops to jump through. She had to sneak a horse from the stable, not even bothering with a saddle, and make it out of sight of any windows without servants or her mother seeing her. Luckily, clouds kept drifting over the moon, throwing the landscape into darkness long enough to make progress, but giving her moments of enough light to make sure she was going the right way. 

Dakan’s home wasn’t too far from hers, but she still had to struggle to keep herself on the horse’s back. At least she put reins on it—she couldn’t imagine leading it by its mane. 

She kept the horse at a fast enough pace to keep herself from thinking about this too much. She didn’t want to turn back, but she knew if she was given a moment’s pause, she would. And she would never get this chance again. 

At last, she saw the shape of Dakan’s home against the dark sky. She kicked the horse’s sides, and it sped up, and hoofbeats echoing her pounding heart. 

When she reached the gate, she slipped off, tying the reins to a wrought iron pole, hoping no one would be out here to notice a horse tied at the entrance to the Rhysmels’ manor. Looking up at the house, a warm glow flickered in one window—Dakan’s window, she remembered from her visits. 

Positioning herself under the window, she picked up stones from the grass, any she could find as she patted the ground, and tossed them as best as she could at the window. As expected, she missed some, but eventually a particularly large one smacked against it, and she waited. 

He appeared in the window, pausing before pulling it open. “Lizbeth? What the  _ hell _ are you doing here?”

His face was hidden in darkness, so she had to hope he was pleased to see her. “Can I come in?”

He nodded, stammering. “O-of course, let me just come down—” he ducked back inside, disappearing from view. Moments passed, but then he was outside, rushing to her, holding his arms out, and she let herself collapse into them. “Are you alright? What are you doing here?”

She buried her face in his chest, shaking her head. “Dakan. I have to tell you. All I want from marrying Philip is the crown. I know how that must sound, but it’s true. I’ve never been in love with him at all. But tonight …” she took a shuddering breath, bunching the back of his shirt in her fists. “Tonight, I want you. If you’ll have me.”

Placing his hands on either side of her face, Dakan tilted her head up, and she met his eyes. 

“Of course, Lizbeth. Of course I’ll have you.”

She let out a soft sob, rising on tip toes to kiss him—the first kiss she’d ever  _ wanted _ for herself. She leaned into him, losing herself in the softness of his lips, the steady hands that traveled from her face to her head, her back, the base of her spine. 

A soft, cool breeze blew across her skin, and she shivered. “Do you want to go inside?” Dakan mumbled against her lips. 

“Yes,” she said without a moment of hesitation. 

He led her into his home and up to his room. Once inside, she kissed him again, raking her fingers through his hair, letting him pull gasps from her when he moved to her neck. When his fingers tangled in the laces of her dress, she whispered for him to untie them, which he did as she pulled at the buttons of his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders once it was open. 

She shimmied out of her dress, letting it fall to the floor, and before she could move to the button of his pants, he stopped her hands, looking at her, vulnerable before him. “You’re stunning, Lizbeth,” he whispered. 

Her face flushed, and she laughed. “I don’t understand how others can say that to me, but as soon as you do, I can’t hold myself together.”

He cupped her face in his palm, pressing another kiss to her lips. “I think it’s because you know I mean it.”

“Dakan …” she trailed off, forgetting anything she could have said as she stared into his eyes. He guided her hands to his waist, she unbuttoned his pants, and they fell around his ankles. 

He tugged her forward, and they fell onto his bed. She pulled him on top of her, beckoning his lips to hers once more as their legs shifted, finding the place where they were most comfortable. 

“You’re certain?” he whispered, pulling away. 

Lizbeth stroked the side of his face, nodded. “Yes. I’m certain.”

And as he came back for another kiss, she let the ecstasy of making this choice wash over her. Her life would change forever tomorrow, but for tonight, she could live just how she wanted to. For herself, and herself alone.

#

Lizbeth blinked her eyes open when the gray rays of dawn seeped into the room. Dakan’s arm was around her waist, and she was warm, and she wished she could bury herself here for the rest of her life—if only no one would come searching for either of them. 

But the promise of the crown made her squirm out of Dakan’s arm, sitting on the edge of the bed, her thoughts spinning as she shivered, cold away from him and out from the sheets. 

“Lizbeth?” he mumbled. She turned, her heart aching at his face, creased with sleep, hair sticking out on one side. 

“I have to go,” she whispered.

He sighed, closing his eyes again. “So you’re still getting married to him today?”

“I have to.”

A humorless laugh lef t his mouth. “I would try to argue, but we both know I could never change your mind.”

She swallowed. “I wish you could,” she said, voice soft. 

He met her eyes, and she fought her emotion threatening to rise. “One more kiss?” he asked. 

She leaned over him, capturing his lips, ingraining the feel of them in her memory. She traced her hand over his bare chest, and he ran his down her spine, sending shivers through her. She leaned away, and he let her go. 

“I can’t let my mother find out I left. I can’t let anyone—”

“I understand,” he said. 

Before she fell back in beside him, allowing herself to get used to the curve of his body against hers, she stood, redressing herself and heading to the door. Before she opened it, she placed her hand on the frame and glanced back. Dakan’s gaze had followed her. 

“I’ll see you later today, I suppose.”

“Yeah.”

As she walked out of his room, of his home, and back to the horse, she tried to ignore the fact that the sorrow in his voice matched the sorrow in her heart perfectly.

#

The wedding ceremony came and went. Lizbeth’s mind was elsewhere during the entire thing, remaining just present enough not to make any noticeable mistakes. She said the vows, she took the ring, she kissed Philip— _ so different than Dakan,  _ she couldn’t help but think—and waited for the congratulations to die down. Her mother was there, but luckily she stayed far away from Lizbeth. She never said anything about Lizbeth coming back home close to six in the morning, returning a horse to the stables and sneaking back to her room. If she had known, she would have. 

She was safe. 

But once most of the guests had paid their respects to the newlyweds, Lizbeth managed to slip away, finding herself in a quiet corner of the palace—close to the cavernous room the reception was being held in, but not close enough for anyone to find her. 

Unless they would know where to look.

She pinched the skirt of her wedding dress between her fingers, worrying it back and forth as she looked out a window at the kingdom below.

“I hope you’re happy with your crown.” 

A spike of emotion lanced her heart at Dakan’s voice, though she had been expecting him to show up. She faced him. “I will be,” she answered. 

He frowned, his brows wrinkling. “You will be?”

She shrugged. “I haven’t done any princess duties yet. Much less queen ones.”

Dakan pressed his hands to his face, groaning. “So you’re waiting?”

“Well, I’m not going to  _ kill _ Edward and Philip, if that’s what you’re asking. That would be entirely too suspicious.”

He sighed, coming to stand beside her, leaning his palms on the stone windowsill. “I guess so.” He looked to her, and she watched him back. “Is this … goodbye, then?”

She snorted. “No. You’ll still be around. We just have to … get used to each other.” She looked at him. “Keep our distance.”

“Of course.”

They watched one another until Dakan broke eye contact to look down the corridor. Lizbeth waited, her breath soft, until he turned back and leaned toward her, stopping when their foreheads touched, waiting for her to close the gap.

She shut her eyes, sighing. “I want to, Dakan. I really do. But … if we make a habit out of this, it won’t end well. For either of us.”

Dakan sighed, leaning back. “I know. I know.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and she smiled at the gentle touch. “Last night was our moment. No more.”

She shook her head. “No more.”

His hand remained on her cheek, and she left it for a moment longer, letting his handprint press into her skin, her mind. But when she touched his wrist, he pulled away. 

“We can get used to this. Just like anything else.” Lizbeth swallowed, not breaking eye contact. “I should go back to my reception.”

He nodded, and she turned away, walking back toward the room. 

“Lizbeth?”

She stopped, not turning. 

“You look beautiful. Philip doesn’t know how lucky he is.”

She caught a sob in her throat, swallowing it once more. “Thank you,” she said.

She reentered the reception, the crush of bodies and voices doing little to take Dakan from her mind.

#

Lizbeth trudged through the months after her wedding. Living in the palace was everything she ever dreamed—anything she desired at her fingertips, people always there to wait on her, a place away, finally, from her mother—except she truly had very little sway over Philip. Unfortunately, he seemed to be taking after his father, a ruler who knew what he wanted, barely listening to his advisors’ suggestions. 

Dakan was there often, and she could only hope that Philip was different enough from his father, friends enough with Dakan, that he would be open to listening to him. Because if he listened to Dakan, then she would have no problem getting him to listen to her. Because as much as he said he loved her, he never seemed to want to listen to any of her suggestions when he would happen to bring up political issues to her. And pointing this out only made him angry, defensive, which she never wanted to deal with.

She and Dakan interacted little when he was there. They were polite to one another, of course, when they were in the presence of others, but Lizbeth didn’t allow them to find themselves alone together. Because if they did, she didn’t know how she would react. 

When he wasn’t with her in person, he rarely left her mind. She thought distance would be good, but it only served to deepen her desire for him. She and Philip had separate bedrooms—her request, disguised as a place she could go to have somewhere to herself. But most nights, she slept there, because she had found herself waking more than once with Dakan’s name falling from her lips. 

So when Philip told her he was travelling again and asked if she wanted to come with him, she lied and said she didn’t feel well enough to be up for travel—he should go without her. She would be fine at the palace, waiting for his return.

Not that she planned on doing anything with Dakan while he was away. He probably wouldn’t even be at the palace. Why would he, with Philip gone?

No, she simply wanted time to herself. To not have to attend meals with Philip or Edward, to not sit through meetings she had no say in, to let herself  _ rest _ for a week or so.

So when, on the first day of Philip’s absence, she ran into Dakan as she walked past the meeting room, she stopped in her tracks, unapologetically staring at him as he stared back at her. 

“Dakan,” she said. “I … didn’t think you’d be here.”

“I could say the same for you. I thought you’d be with your husband.”

She hid her wince behind a raised eyebrow. “What are you doing? There are no meetings while they’re gone.”

He held up a folder. “I had to pick this up. I still have work to do, even if Edward and Philip are gone.”

She nodded. “What … what are you working on right now?”

He hesitated before the ghost of a smile passed over his mouth. “Budgets. Thinking of what to do in Ardhalis, infrastructure-wise. New buildings, roads, the like.”

Lizbeth pursed her lips. “Sounds fun.”

He laughed. “More fun than you might think.”

She rolled her eyes, the corners of her lips turning up. “For  _ you _ , of course it is.”

They smiled at one another, but each smile quickly faded. “I hope being the princess is everything you’ve hoped for,” he said. 

Before she could stop herself, she scoffed. “You’ve seen how Philip treats me when I suggest anything. Let alone his father. I might as well not have even married him.” She stared at the skirt of her dress, pulling at the cloth. 

“Er, would you …” Dakan cleared his throat, and she looked up at him. “Would you like me to, I don’t know … give you some advice for getting Philip to listen to you?”

She raised an eyebrow. “What kind of advice?”

He shrugged. “Just things I’ve picked up on. Phrases, the emotions he tends to listen to, what kinds of things he likes to hear.”

Lizbeth looked behind her. The hallway was empty, but she said, “We shouldn’t be discussing this in the open.”

Dakan nodded. “Of course. I have to go, anyway.” He paused. “Would you like to find somewhere more private? Sometime?”

“My room,” she said, her face flushing. She watched his throat bob as he swallowed, eyes widening. “Later. When you’re free.”

“O-of course, your Highness,” he said, clearing his throat, inclining his head. “I’ll be there.”

She hurried down the hall, not waiting for any more words or reactions from him. Her breath and heart quickened. 

Yes, this was a stupid plan. 

No, she didn’t care.

#

When the knock came at her door, Lizbeth steeled herself, opened the door, and tried to keep herself impassive at the sight of Dakan standing before her. 

Much like the night before her wedding, he wasn’t wearing his typical vest-ascot combination. Just a shirt, tucked into his pants, the shadow of a goatee on his chin and around his mouth. 

“Please, come in,” she said, stepping aside, gesturing to a pair of couches facing each other in the center of her room. He crossed to one, sitting down, and she latched the door. 

“So. Let me in on the tricks to get Philip to listen to me,” she said as she sat on the couch across from him. 

“Yes.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and her breath caught— _ rolled up sleeves _ . “I’m sure you’ve noticed how much Philip looks up to his father?”

She nodded, not trusting her voice to say anything. 

“If you phrase things similar to how Edward does—you’ve noticed how he’s fond of broad, sweeping statements, I assume?” Another nod. “Good. Philip takes after him so much, I’ve been trying to get him to start thinking for himself. Edward’s …” he sighed. “He doesn’t always have the  _ best _ governmental ideas, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. 

“Referencing the royal family’s name and how the citizens of Ardhalis would perceive it doesn’t hurt, either. One thing he seems to want to do is work towards a country where there is less disparity between the classes. But that’s slow going. And …” he looked at Lizbeth, eyes heavy with emotion. “He really adores you, Lizbeth. If you wanted him to listen to you, you might … I hate to say ‘take advantage’ of that, but …” He dropped his face into his hands. “You know what I mean. Show him more affection, I suppose. You don’t have to take it any further than you want to, of course.”

“Of course,” she answered, gaze still locked on his arms.  _ God, I miss those arms _ .

“Lizbeth?”

“Hm?”

“Are you alright?”

She covered her mouth with her hands, tearing her gaze away from him. “This … I shouldn’t have asked you to come here.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

She shook her head before turning her gaze back to him. “I …” she took a deep breath, trying to push the nerves from her veins. “Dakan. You are all I think about. At all times. And I’m trying to get used to not being with you like I want to. But that one taste I had of you …” she shut her eyes, too tired to stop the tears from squeezing out. “It’s been very hard to not want that again.”

A beat of silence. “Well. What do you want to do about it?”

She opened her eyes, wiping away the tears. “What do you want?”

He shook his head. “I admit, I want you. But this is your decision. I will not try to sway you either way, and once you choose … you’re free to change your mind again, but I will respect your wishes until you tell me otherwise.”

Lizbeth took another breath, shaking as she drew it in. She stood and stepped to his couch, sitting beside him. As he turned to her, she took his face in her hands and pulled him to her, all the desire that had built up for months breaking her dam and flooding through her as he pulled her on top of him, deepening their kiss, tugging at her lip with his teeth, their tongues brushing together, heat pooling between her legs as his fingers gripped her hips. 

She bent her head back, and he moved down her neck, leaving her gasping at the places where he bit and sucked at her sensitive skin. They had been careful the night before her wedding—careful to leave no marks. But that didn’t matter anymore, and she tangled her fingers in his hair, guiding his mouth where she wanted him to leave his bite behind, to take her as his and no one else’s. 

Her fingers made quick work of the buttons on his shirt, and he untied the front of her dress—a silky, slippery thing that she put on just in case this ended up happening. His lips trailed down her chest, and she hummed as he left more marks around her breasts. She shifted her hips over his, letting out a sigh when she felt him pressing into her, through his pants. She pulled the button open, and he wrapped one arm around her back, the other under her ass, and stood. She yelped in surprise, laughing as he moved to her bed, falling onto it. As she let her dress slide off of her arms, he dropped his shirt and pants to the floor before she pushed him onto his back, crawling on top. 

She took him in her hand, holding his chin in her other fingertips, and stroked him, delicate, slow, prolonging her own pleasure just as long as she was doing for him. 

“I thought you wanted me again,” he said, his voice rasping. 

“I do. I want this to last as long as possible,” she said, panting. 

He reached for her, and she leaned forward, letting his hands press into her back, fingers curling the longer her hand moved against him. He kept arching his back, gasping her name, and only when he whispered, “Please, Lizbeth,” did she lean down to kiss him before lowering herself over him. 

Dakan groaned as she laced their hands together on either side of his head and moved against him. He closed his eyes, his head tilting back, and each movement pushed a gasp from her throat. As Dakan became more and more undone, so did she, watching his chest rise and fall under her, the pleasure rushing over his face. 

“Lizbeth,” he whispered, and he opened his eyes, and that green made her weaker than she was already feeling against him. “Let me …”

She let go of his hands, he rolled them over, and she sighed when his weight settled on top of her. He moved back inside her, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he increased their rhythm, leaving her gasping his name with each thrust, until he let himself go, moaning against her shoulder, his breath warming her skin. 

He pulled out of her, and she barely had time to breathe before he was tracing her folds, brushing her clit, swollen with need, and she let out a soft cry. He lowered his head between her thighs, taking her in his mouth, and with each press of his tongue against her she moaned again, breathy and desperate. She raked his hair with her fingers, wrapping her legs around his shoulders, back arching as he brought her to the edge with his tongue and his fingers, and a moment later she fell, crying out, panting, her heart racing as he slowed, stopped, and looked back up to her. 

She wiped his mouth with the sheet, but leaned into him, pressing another kiss to his lips, tasting herself on his tongue. When the kiss ended, they stayed there, foreheads pressed together, breath slowing, skin cooling. 

Lizbeth met Dakan’s eyes. “I want to make the most of this time until Philip returns.”

“So do I,” he whispered. 

She fell back, pulling his shoulders so he fell with her. “Can you go again?”

“For you?” he asked, pressing kisses to her jaw, running his fingers through her hair. “Of course I can.”

#

After Philip returned, it was difficult for Lizbeth to act as though nothing had changed since Philip left. Difficult, but not impossible. 

Whenever she had a chance to, she started using Dakan’s advice to sway Philip to do what she wanted. When they were trying to decide what to write in a trade deal, she made vague statements about how the people would respect their wealth, and in turn their power, if they managed to get more precious materials imported to decorate the palace and government buildings with. At the suggestion of giving more funding to some of the poorer districts instead of the police, she pointed out that, in the past, these poorer districts had never done much to elevate themselves with the money they provided, so perhaps they should wait and let them figure it out themselves. When Philip was considering letting his father go on another trip abroad without him, she ran her hand down his arm, gently pointing out how much he could learn from his father if he went, and that she would miss him, but she would wait patiently for his return.

And once he was gone, Dakan was back in her bed—well, he had been there a few times since Philip was back, but they tried to remain as discreet as possible. Now, though, when Lizbeth could make sure no one would disturb her after dinner and she didn’t have to worry about the possibility of Philip being the only one who would and could ignore that order, Dakan was there nearly every night. They quickly learned what the other liked, the places that left them weak, that left them wanting more. During these nights, Lizbeth would forget about Philip completely—not that she thought of him much when she and Dakan weren’t together. 

Months turned into a year, and that year aged into more. Against all odds, Lizbeth and Dakan never slipped up. In public, they were friends. If they touched, it was as anyone would lay hands on a princess, with the utmost respect of her and her husband. But in the confines of her room, they held one another close, reveling in the feeling of skin on skin and lips on lips. 

One morning, Lizbeth woke to the now-familiar sight of Dakan, asleep, facing her. She smiled, never tiring of his face when he was asleep. Or when he was awake, for that matter.

She reached out, brushing his cheek with her fingers. He blinked his eyes open, smiling at her and yawning. “Good morning, love,” he mumbled. 

“Good morning.” She snuggled close, and he draped his arm over her, tucking her head under his chin. She pressed her palm to his heart, his skin warming under her touch, that rhythmic beat comforting. 

“Lizbeth,” he said, his voice quiet. 

“Hm?”

He took a deep breath, exhaling before saying, “We can’t go on like this forever.”

She wiggled out of his grasp, staring at him.

“Don’t look at me like that. What, you don’t feel guilty for doing this behind Philip’s back for so long?”

“No,” she said. “If he wasn’t such a fool, he would have noticed by now. It’s not my fault he’s blind.”

“Lizbeth,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose and rolling onto his back.

“Do you want to stop?” she asked. 

He opened his mouth, shaking his head. “I- no. But I  _ do _ want to stop having to sneak around with you, to hide my feelings for you every day of my life. And that means you either leave Philip, or we end this.”

Her fist tightened on her bedsheet. “I … I can’t leave Philip.”

“You basically have.” He looked at her. “You still choose the crown over me, even after all this time?”

Her heart tugged in two different directions, and instead of answering, she looked away, pressing her lips together. 

“Fine.” Dakan pushed himself up, out of bed, and began dressing himself. She watched him when his back was turned, but when he faced her again, she dropped her eyes. He stood there for a moment before sighing and leaving the room without another word. 

As the door shut, she let her heart crack, just a bit, and the tears fell onto her cheeks in response.

#

A few weeks later, after a meeting for the crown’s budget for the coming year, Lizbeth had stormed into another room, Dakan following her and slamming the door behind them. “Why? Why are you so opposed to helping out the South Shore? These are  _ your _ people!” he snapped, hands waving in frustration. 

Lizbeth let out a cold laugh. “They are hardly  _ my _ people, Dakan. I have no power. They’re as much my people as they are yours.”

He groaned, running his hand through his hair. “What the  _ hell _ , Lizbeth. You know that’s not true. You’re just hiding behind that  _ selfish _ —” he broke off, and she shot an icy glare at him. “I didn’t mean that,” he said, keeping his voice level, “but we  _ do _ have power over Philip. The only reason it seems like we don’t is because I’m fighting for one thing while you’re fighting for the opposite. He’s torn.”

Lizbeth rolled her eyes and turned away from him. 

“Don’t act like a  _ child, _ Lizbeth. And no, I will not be apologizing for that one, because that’s what you’re acting like.” He shook his head as she turned to glare at him again. “You do know the true job of a princess, and especially the job of a queen, is to  _ look after  _ your subjects? Not just do whatever you want? Because that’s an autocracy, and that is not what Ardhalis is supposed to be.” He let out a laugh tinged with anger, leaning on the table in the center of the room. “Why don’t you  _ want  _ to help better Ardhalis? If you want to have such a beautiful country to rule over, this is how you begin, rebuilding from the bottom up!”

All Lizbeth did was shake her head. “How many times have we offered them help in the past? How many times has it worked? Face it, Dakan, the South Shore is a lost cause.”

“It is going to take significant reforms, bigger than anything we’ve done so far, to do  _ anything _ to help them. And to hear the future queen of this country say that a major percentage of her population is a lost cause …” he shook his head, pressing his hand to his face, dragging it down his cheek. “I don’t even know what to say to that. That’s  _ awful _ , Lizbeth.”

She clenched her jaw, anger simmering in her veins. “You do not get to tell me how to behave as the future ruler of this country.”

He laughed again. “You know that is my job, right?”

“For Philip. Not for me.”

“God, you …” he paced around himself, covering his mouth. “You are  _ maddeningly _ stubborn, you know that? Why can’t you concede to anyone? Why do you have to come out on top every time?”

She laughed, sharp and pointed. “You’re really asking me that?”

He let out a shout, turning on his heel and striding to the door. “I cannot have this conversation with you, Lizbeth, if you’re going to refuse to see reason. Now, excuse me. I have to go clean up after the mess you made of my perfectly sound, reasonable suggestions for next year’s budget.”

The door slammed behind him, and Lizbeth sank into one of the chairs that furnished the room. Fury bubbled, and she pushed it back, away from the surface. 

This was a problem, but not one she couldn’t handle. 

When she left the room, her mind was occupied thinking what she needed to do to keep Philip on her side, so much so that she didn’t notice a servant approaching her with a letter until they were right in front of her and she had to stop. 

“From your mother, your Highness.”

_ My … mother? _ Everything left Lizbeth’s mind. She took the envelope from the servant’s hand and ripped it open. As she skimmed the words, her eyebrows rose, and when she finished it, she looked back to the servant. “Get my carriage ready. I have to go visit her.”

#

A servant led Lizbeth to her mother’s room, which was quiet, but full of the anticipation of death. Her mother laid in her bed, and Lizbeth came to stand at the foot of it, staring at her thin, weakened body. 

“Lizbeth,” her mother said, her voice thin. 

“Mother.” Lizbeth stared at her mother, eyebrows raised, before asking, “Did you have a reason for asking me to come here?”

“Can’t I see my daughter before I die?”

“I wish you wouldn’t have.”

Her mother huffed, an attempt at a laugh. “I see you’ve finally grown a spine.”

“No thanks to you.”

Her mother closed her eyes, and Lizbeth was about to leave, until she said, “Tell me about being Philip’s princess.”

Lizbeth crossed her arms. “It’s fine.”

“You’re not going to thank me for all I’ve done to put you in that position?”

Lizbeth shook her head. “You don’t deserve thanks.”

Her mother’s brows knit together. “I think I do. I arranged everything between you and Philip. Without me, you would not be where you are now.”

“So you call me here on your deathbed to continue to berate me? I don’t know what else I expected.” Lizbeth turned, cursing herself for actually coming like her mother had asked her to.

“You don’t have the power you want to, do you?”

Lizbeth stopped. She turned back, frowning. “What makes you think that?”

Her mother shrugged. “I hear things. I know what happens in the palace. Broadly. And how little you really control anything you want to. So you find other ways to exercise that control you so desperately need.”

Lizbeth rolled her eyes. “Whatever. What you know doesn’t matter to me.”

“Tell me this, though,” her mother called. “Did you enjoy manipulating Dakan Rhysmel like that? Did you enjoy using him for your own selfish desires and casting him aside once he served his purpose?”

Lizbeth froze, her mind blank. Any response she could have shot back fell out of her, and she was stuck staring at her mother. 

“Servants notice more than you think. And I have connections.”

Lizbeth clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms, and all the fury that had been building up over the past weeks exploded out of her in a flood. “Why? ” she shouted. “Why do you feel the need to know everything.  _ Everything! _ I’m doing! Has your own life been so miserable that you need to be sure mine is going the same way yours was? Because that’s what it seems like. I cannot  _ wait _ for you to die of whatever is finally sick enough to kill you so I can finally be free of you for the rest of my life!” Lizbeth pressed her eyes, failing to stop the tears from falling. “ _Fuck_ you. Genuinely. For not giving me a moment’s rest. Until now.”

She strode to the door, yanking it open, but before she could slam it behind her, her mother said, “You know you won’t have any power over the country as long as you let Dakan have power over you.”

Lizbeth dug her nails into the door’s wood, but she forced herself to step out and shut the door behind her.

The final barrier between her mother she would ever put up.

#

One week later, she was eating lunch with Philip in silence when a servant arrived with another envelope. Lizbeth wasn’t surprised when she opened it and it told her her mother died. Philip was more upset than she was, but on her behalf—she didn’t think he particularly cared for her mother, either.

Instead of attending the funeral—in fact, she didn’t know if a funeral was being held at all—Lizbeth went to another meeting with Philip, Edward, Dakan, and the rest of the councilmembers.

Edward stood at the head of the table, passing a folder to Philip, who took out a paper and passed it to Lizbeth. The folder made its way around the table, until it reached Dakan, sitting across from Philip and Lizbeth. 

“We’ve uncovered rumors of a socialist group trying to take root in the poorer districts, specifically Greychapel,” Edward said. Lizbeth’s eyebrows rose as she skimmed the papers that had been passed around. 

_ For how long will decent men and women of Ardhalis accept to live in these indecent conditions? _

_ The Aevasther family is guilty of crimes they have tried to keep buried … _

_ A person’s social status shouldn’t determine the consideration they receive from their rulers. _

Lizbeth’s eyes widened, and she glanced at Dakan. His eyes were fixed on the paper, but his grip on it was tight. 

“They apparently call themselves the Snapdragon,” Edward said, pointing at the twisting logo on the front of the pamphlets, “and we need to find them and squash them as quickly as possible. Does anyone have any ideas?”

No one spoke, all examining the pamphlets in their hands. Lizbeth raised her hand. “If I may present an idea?”

Edward nodded at her.

“Well, I can’t help but think of Dakan’s insistence that we give more money to these poorer districts. Clearly, giving them more now would only help them spread this, gather more people. However,” she glanced to Dakan, who was staring at her, face impassive. “What if we find a select few, pay them handsomely, and employ them as spies? They can join this Snapdragon group, find out plans, who else is in it, and if they ever try to move forward, we’ll know where and how to get rid of them.”

Edward nodded, slowly. “That’s a good plan, Lizbeth. Of course, the details might get difficult, but it’s a solid place to start. Is everyone in agreement?”

Nods around the table, but Lizbeth kept her gaze on Dakan, who nodded stiffly.

“Excellent,” Edward said. “I suppose we can start planning, then?”

#

After the meeting, Lizbeth trailed Dakan through the halls until she was certain they were alone. “So. Are you going to go tell your other Snapdragon members to look out for potential spies?”

He jumped, spinning to face her. “How the hell did—” he shut his mouth as soon as a satisfied smirk spread across her face. 

“I didn’t. Not until now. You didn’t do a good job at hiding it, though,” she said, her voice cold. 

He sighed. “I can’t understand why you can’t see how this could help the entire country, Lizbeth.”

“By spreading slander against the country’s rulers?”

“It’s nothing countless people don’t already think for themselves!” he snapped.

“You’re not making it any better by publishing pamphlets about it.” She stepped closer to him, leaning in. 

They hadn’t been this close to one another in a long time. Memories prodded at her mind, her heart, but she pushed them back. “If you let a word of this slip to your fellow anarchists, I will make sure you suffer alongside them,” she whispered into his ear.

“You don’t have anything on me,” he whispered back. 

“I have this conversation. The truth. And, like you told me once.” She stepped back. “Philip adores me. And in the threat of being dethroned, he would be willing to take you down before he falls. Especially if I ask him to.”

Dakan stared at her, anger swirling in those eyes, those emerald eyes she used to dream of every night, the eyes she woke up to so, so many times. “What the hell happened to you, Lizbeth? How did you change so much?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think either of us has changed, Dakan. We simply didn’t know each other as well as we thought we did.” She reached out, running her thumb along his jawline. “It’s a shame. Looks-wise, you’re significantly kinglier than Philip.” Her hand dropped. “But you don’t have the stomach for it. You care for others too much.”

“There should be no such thing as caring too much for your people,” he said, an edge to his voice. “There was a time you cared for me too much. Enough to chance tarnishing your crown.”

Lizbeth took a few steps back from him, an icy smile sliding over her face. “You think I wouldn’t have let you burn if we were ever caught?” She laughed as his face hardened. “By now, Dakan Rhysmel, you should know there is nothing I wouldn’t do for this crown.”

He took a deep breath before bowing his head to her. “Forgive me, your Majesty. I won’t underestimate you again.”

“That’s right, you won’t. Now,” she said, crossing her arms. “I want you to be my main spy on the Snapdragon. And if you give me false information … it will not be a pleasant experience for you.”

“Your spy? Philip and Edward don’t know about this scheme of yours?”

“I’m doing this for your sake, Dakan. You don’t want them knowing you’re a part of it, do you?”

“Of course not.”

“Then you’ll behave. And you’ll do what I say. And when Snapdragon is eradicated, we can move on from this, yes?”

He clenched his jaw, but nodded. “Of course.”

They stared at each other, that tension building between them the stiller they stayed. Lizbeth walked forward, and he watched her movement until she was back in front of him, and he let out a sigh. 

“I wish things could have worked out differently between us,” he said as she drew a finger through his hair, down his jaw, stopping at his chin. 

She shrugged, brushing her thumb over his lips. “They worked out how they were supposed to.”

“I guess so.”

They stared at each other, and Dakan leaned forward. Lizbeth stepped back. He let out a small snort. “Sorry. Old habits die hard.”

She raised an eyebrow. “If they don’t die on their own, kill them, Dakan.”

He pursed his lips. “Right.”

She turned, but kept her eyes fixed on him. “You know all I care about is my crown. And you’ve threatened it. You should have known what would happen when I found out.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to find out.”

“That’s your mistake.”

She walked away, relishing in the sensation of his eyes, watching her as she left him behind. 

Through the twisting hallways, she made her way to the throne room. She stepped in, making her way to the dais, climbing the stairs, and settling into the throne that would be hers. 

She crossed her legs at the ankles, leaning on the armrest and placing her chin in her palm, looking over the empty room, imagining how it would look, full of people, all looking up at her in her rightful place. 

She had waited for that day for so long, and she wasn’t going to let some lord’s son take it away from her.

**Author's Note:**

> The fact that, to date, this is the third longest thing I've written... second longest that I've completed... I don't know if I should be proud or concerned.


End file.
